


Stars Align

by compo67



Series: Punzel Verse [33]
Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Childhood, Childhood Trauma, Children, Drag Queens, Established Jensen Ackles/Jared Padalecki, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, Family, Family Bonding, Family Feels, Family Issues, Gender Identity, Gender Roles, Light Angst, M/M, Mpreg, Parenthood, Post Mpreg, Self-Acceptance, Slice of Life, Therapy, Triplets
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-06
Updated: 2019-12-06
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:54:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21696529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/compo67/pseuds/compo67
Summary: The stars align. Mysterious forces of the universe combine. A kaleidoscope of cosmic influences shift into one, luminous experience.In other words, Jared and Jensen start their Friday with an hour of R-rated adult time.However, their day takes them on a few interesting turns.
Relationships: Jensen Ackles/Jared Padalecki, Misha Collins/Jeffrey Dean Morgan
Series: Punzel Verse [33]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/145830
Comments: 16
Kudos: 78





	Stars Align

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Redgirl_78](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Redgirl_78/gifts).



**Jared:**

The stars align. 

Mysterious forces of the universe combine. 

A kaleidoscope of cosmic influences shift into one, luminous experience. 

In other words, Jared starts his Friday with an hour of R-rated adult time. 

The benevolent gods of parenting have bestowed upon him a window of time in which no one needs their lunches made, their noses wiped, or their beds checked for monsters. The only bed he’s checking for monsters is his own. 

Jensen glares up at Jared and stops thrusting. “Why are you… laughing?” 

Jared winces as his hips tilt in an odd angle. “Ow. Jen--you threw off my groove.” 

“Then quit laughing while I’m… while we’re…” 

“Checking the bed for monsters,” Jared quips. He ties his hair back in a ponytail, the power bottom equivalent of a race car driver buckling their seat belt. “I crack myself up. Can we continue?”

“Romantic,” Jensen grumbles and rolls his eyes. 

With a dramatic sigh, Jared leans down. He allows a few loose strands of hair to hang over his shoulders, a reminder of the fact that Jensen enjoys the longer style. It’s a pain to wash, dry, and manage--but it gives Jensen more to grab and pull on while they’re checking the bed for monsters, and therefore, worth having.

Jared kisses Jensen in one, sweeping, elegant motion. 

Their lips lock. They inhale and exhale the same breath. 

Satisfied, Jensen pushes his hips up, and Jared lets out a quiet moan. 

It’s been a solid week since they’ve had R-rated adult time together. When needs must, they each have their own way of coping. Jared accepts a silicone substitute, and Jensen will take a slightly longer shower. But nothing, not even the stellar water pressure from the new shower head Jensen recently installed, beats out the Real Deal. 

Nothing compares to the fervent friction of the push and pull between them.

Jared sits up and tilts his head back, eyes closed. Savor this moment. Who knows when they’ll get another chance to have sex without interruption? It could be another week. Months. Years. He may die of sexual thirst. 

What is life without a raw, hot as hell tumble in the sheets with Jensen?

The kids are downstairs with Misha and Jeff, having breakfast and getting ready to go to school. It is Mimi and Papa day. Mommy and Daddy said good morning, doled out hugs and kisses, then promptly turned and ran back to their bedroom. 

Their door is shut and locked.

No one’s interrupting and that is final.

The bed begins its chorus of squeaks and complaints. Jared sets their pace to one hundred percent lust. He’ll wax poetic about love, trust, and the power of connection in therapy on Monday. 

Right now, he’s living his best life, riding the thick, heavy cock of a man who knows how to use it. 

God bless the muscles in Jensen’s thighs. God bless the invention of ribbed condoms. God bless the existence of a prostate. 

“There,” Jared pants, eyes squeezed shut. He focuses on each individual moment. “Right… there.” 

Eager and perceptive, Jensen’s eyes scan Jared’s body for a response to his motions. Green eyes. Full lips. Pink tongue peeking out in concentration and restraint until he finds balance and stability in their position. In the middle of December, Jensen’s skin retains a golden, honeyed tan thanks to the California sunshine from working outside. 

He’s lovely. Utterly, devastatingly lovely. 

Jared’s heart gives a squeeze right before Jensen fucks into him hard and fast.

Impeccable timing.

“Yes, yes, yes,” Jared blurts out, eyes watering. “Oh, fuck.” 

The fat head of Jensen’s cock pounds against the dead center of Jared’s prostate. Bulls eye. Best game of darts ever. Shit, don’t start laughing again. 

Jensen must sense something, because he growls, “Hold on.” 

Firm fingers dig into Jared’s ass--holding him open and pushing his hips down. Pressure pierces through to the small of Jared’s back. His thighs tremble and his chest rapidly rises and falls. The world is sparks of neon energy and exquisitely counterbalanced pain.

The sound of skin against skin increases in frequency and volume. Every thrust leaves Jared feeling incomparably full, dominated, and absolutely satisfied. 

God bless America. 

Jared meets every movement from Jensen with his own. Gravity assists in each return of force. Sweat and lube create an audible squelch as Jared pulls his hips up and sinks down over Jensen’s cock. He steadies Jensen’s hips for a minute to take control of the depth and the pace. Pressure. Momentum. Tilt.

He stops on a dime to savor the sensation of Jensen’s cock twitching as it slides in. 

“Holy shit,” Jensen gasps, a little too loud. He covers his mouth with his free hand--the other on Jared’s ass. Captivated, he watches Jared repeat the entire process. 

Hips lifting, Jared uses his internal muscles to apply pressure around Jensen’s cock--holding him tight, easing up little by little until he pushes him out. Jensen’s cock bobs. Through the condom, the head of his cock is flushed and shaft soaked. 

Once again using purposeful resistance, Jared takes him in, impossibly tight--challenging Jensen to work harder under limited movement and space. 

With Jensen buried deep, Jared clenches, shudders, and moans. 

Jensen’s right leg bucks and the muscles in his stomach go tense. His eyes flutter and a blush expands over the bridge of his nose. He pulls Jared close, not so much for a kiss as a rough exchange of bites and quiet growls. He wraps his right hand around Jared’s cock, stroking once, twice, three times before reaching further back. 

Touch. Trace. Tease. 

They move in unison, back and forth, rocking, and fight to remain silent. Fingertips dig into skin and muscle. Lips and teeth clash. Mattress springs wonder why the hell they don’t switch to memory foam.

Jared buries his face in the crook of Jensen’s shoulder. “Close, Jen… almost…” 

In the spirit of what the fuck is even happening, Jared orgasms at the same time his phone rings.

The Flintstones theme song blares on a loop.

Too bad, so sad because… 

“Coming,” Jared whines, his hips working overtime. “Jen, I’m coming, holy fuck.” 

Jensen makes direct eye contact with Jared. Neither one of them want to miss this. Jensen’s right hand settles over Jared’s cock with a tight grip and rough movement. Jared catches the exact moment Jensen opens his mouth and the first rope of come lands on his tongue. 

Jared loses it. “Oh my god!”

Desperate, he pushes his hips forward, thanking whatever god responsible for flexibility and the length of his cock. The second and third spurts of come hit their willing, pink target, with the rest landing all over Jensen’s stomach. 

After a lip of his lips and a swallow, Jensen issues a command--his voice gruff. “Again. Come again.”

Is this the real life or is this just fantasy? 

Jared reaches for a pillow and screams into it, just as Fred Flintstone can be heard yelling, “Wilma!” 

The second orgasm hits Jared hard. Jensen takes care of the work as long as Jared can keep himself upright, which Jared manages only because the angle of the thrust hits exactly where he needs. Up. Down. up. Down. Up. Down. Down. Down. He comes in a gush from an internal place, creaming over Jensen’s cock, as well as coming from his own. 

That’s the benefit of his anatomy and he wouldn’t trade it for anything. 

Funny how that is though. He hated his body when he found out the things it could do. When he was thirteen, his mother had dragged him to the town doctor, who explained, in a grave and somber tone, that Jared was different from Tristan in one key aspect. 

No one had ever taught him how great it could be to be different.

It’s incredible to look back at all those missed opportunities of self-love and self-compassion. 

And equally incredible to look down at the man who loves him.

Jared smiles, then laughs, shoulders shaking. He places his hands on Jensen’s chest to steady himself first, then leans down and presses kisses all over Jensen’s face. 

“Flip me over,” he whispers, nosing Jensen’s ear. “Get me to three.” 

“You’re laughing again,” Jensen murmurs and insists on an actual kiss. 

“It’s what happy people do, dontcha know.” 

“It’s good to hear.”

Tossing his hair over his shoulder, Jared snorts. “It’s… kind of because of you.” 

“I can’t imagine.” 

“You don’t need to. But you do need to finish what we started, so get your ass in gea… ah!” 

Jensen flips them--chest to chest, Jared on his back. They land with a  _ whump _ on the mattress and both end up laughing, even as the Flintstones start up again, inviting them to ride with the family down the street. 

Pillows and blankets shoved aside, Jared kisses Jensen. Their bodies adjust to the change in position. Jensen eases back into Jared, still hard. The angle isn’t as deep, but it gives Jensen more control. Control Jared happily hands over. He spreads his legs to accommodate Jensen, then wraps them around Jensen’s waist. Pressure. Heat. Delirious pleasure.

Flat on his back, the world looks fantastic and feels euphoric. 

“Fuck,” Jensen groans. He squeezes his eyes shut. “Do… do that again.” 

“This?” Jared clenches on an inhale. 

“...goddamn.” Jensen pounds into Jared, his hips snapping against Jared’s. “Shit, shit, shit--that feels--” 

“I’m coming,” Jared pants. “Don’t stop, don’t stop…!”

Losing it, Jensen bears down, cock buried deep, and shouts into the palm of Jared’s hand. He comes hard. Brutal and totally wrecked. 

Nothing short of a-fucking-mazing.

For a solid minute, they wheeze and shake--boneless, sweaty, sticky. 

Jared helps ease Jensen against him, instead of waiting for the collapse. “Easy. Careful.” 

Green eyes flutter. “Uh huh.” 

“Rest.”

“Yeah…” 

“Mm.”

“Oh god.”

“What?”

“I’m still hard.”

“Punzel, you fiend.” 

“Uh huh.”

“...so, you wanna go another round?”

“Possibly. If I don’t die.”

Jared kisses Jensen’s cheek. “You should fuck me from behind.” 

The request? Simple. 

The execution? Somewhat simple.

They begin the process of attempting round two, their movements awkward and unsteady. Jensen laughs, which prompts Jared to laugh. Gradually, they disentangle. 

“This is a fucking mess,” Jensen snickers, gesturing to the bed in general. “Is that…” He lifts the blankets to reveal a surprise. “...a Dora doll?” 

“Thank the good lord for washing machines.” Jared looks over. “And yes. Yes it is.” 

“She watched the whole thing.”

“Which of our three children planted it, you think?”

Jensen gives Dora the boot and tosses her off the bed. “Who knows? Let’s be glad it’s not a horse head.”

“I don’t know what you’re referencing, so… thanks for that.” 

“You’ve never seen  _ The Godfather _ ?” 

“Jensen. I spent sixty-five minutes with Kaylee yesterday, trying to get glitter, glue, glitter glue, and macaroni out of her hair. When is there time to watch  _ The Godfather _ ?” 

He had to get into the tub with her--fully dressed, because if he took his hands off of her, she started screaming. It was so tempting to forget the whole process and reach for a pair of scissors instead. 

Jared lies down, too tired and sore to sit up. “Besides, when did  _ you _ have time to watch it?”

Yesterday, Jensen worked eight hours at the gardens, then four hours at UPS, only to arrive home to find Misha desperately trying to convince Hailey that she should refrain from screeching the word, “MOTHERFUCKING.” 

Stretching and rummaging through his nightstand, Jensen quips, “That was in my former life, the one before I knew how to change three diapers at the same time. Fuck, I’m out of condoms.”

“I just put a new pack in there two weeks ago.”

“Not seeing any.”

“Great. You know what that means. Check mine.”

“That’s so far away.”

“No condom, no ass,” Jared snickers and wiggles. 

“Is this not the point of birth control pills?” Jensen lightly swats at Jared’s ass before searching the second nightstand. 

Jared rests his head against a non-stained pillow. A current of pleasing endorphins and hormones runs through his entire body. “When I’m ready to bareback, trust me, you’ll be the first to know.”

The sound of a condom wrapper ripping open signifies a successful venture to a nightstand far, far away.

“Bareback? Are we in a porn vid now?” 

“Yes, yes we are. What would our tags be?” 

Jensen takes a deep breath as he rolls on the new condom in record time. He then gropes Jared’s ass, inspiring a short burst of laughter from them both. 

“We’re too old to be twinks,” Jensen muses. He spreads Jared open and teases with his fingers. 

Overly sensitive, Jared shudders and pushes back against the touch. “Speak for yourself. I’m twenty-four--that’s peak twink years.” 

“Listen.” Jensen slips two fingers inside Jared, relishing the sound. “Fuck.” 

“Don’t just… talk about it,” Jared mumbles as he clings to his pillow. “Do it.” 

Jensen quits teasing and skips to the good part. The Good Part: Part II. Or Part III. 

Technically, for Jared, Part IV. Unlike Jensen, he can do multiples with relatively short pauses in between. Fortunately for him, Jensen knows how to get him there and how to last. He fucks Jared from behind, grinding Jared’s hips into the mattress, commanding and rough. Their fingers tangle together. 

It’s quick, but hot, and they both come again. This time, Jensen bites a mark onto Jared’s shoulder. 

Dazed, Jared basks in the early morning sunlight filtering in through the windows. 

He looks over at Jensen, who is equally blitzed.

There’s Jensen the Parent who sits politely through PTA meetings, and only speaks to say something wise and influential to their peers--and Jensen the Sex God with Thighs of Steel. 

Luckily, Jared is the only member of the PTA to experience the latter.

Jared is well aware of the stares and oogles Jensen receives from other people, especially the thirsty Thursday evening PTA crowd. Suddenly possessive, Jared gloms onto Jensen, despite the protests of stickiness, and kisses him silly.

It would be so,  _ so _ easy to stay in bed all day and fuck until they either pass out or body parts start to go numb. The spirit is willing, but the flesh is spongy and bruised. 

Unfortunately, Jared’s phone won’t stop ringing. 

“I can’t move,” Jared whines, trapped underneath Jensen. “I gotta answer, Jen. It could be the school.”

Reluctantly, Jensen allows him to move. “Tell them no take backsies until two thirty.”

“It’s Jeff.” Panic sets in. Jared answers. “What’s wrong? Are you okay? Are the kids okay?” 

Jeff laughs, the sound of a cafe in the background. “Good morning, sunshine. Sorry to bother you during closed door time. Everyone’s fine. Did you read my texts?” 

Relieved, Jared lies down next to Jensen, swinging his legs over to rest on top of Jensen’s ass. 

“No, sorry, I just dove for the phone. What’s the scoop?” 

“Is Jenny Flowers there with you? Wanna put me on speaker phone?” 

“Jenny Flowers is indeed still with me. He doesn’t have to be at work until noon, lucky duck.”

“Least creative drag name in history,” Jensen rumbles, eyes shut, brow furrowed. “Let me sleep.”

With a moment of pause to pay for his coffee, Jeff moves the phone around. “And a good morning to you too, Jenny Flowers. Listen y’all, a friend of a friend of a friend of Tyler’s pulled some strings and we have an appointment to-fucking-day to see Dr. Mitchell. She wants to start with two parents--who’s free?” 

Jensen opens his eyes and looks over his shoulder at Jared. “Who?” 

Tying his hair back in a ponytail, Jared perks up. “Dr. Mitchell is  _ the _ child psychologist in the Santa Monica area. Remember, Wendy at PTA recommended her, but she had a six month waitlist?”

Jeff chimes back in. “She’s got credentials up the wazoo. The appointment’s at one, for an hour. We can reconvene tonight once the kiddos are in bed. Who’s up for it?” 

Jared asks Jeff to hold on a second, and taps the mute button on his phone. 

“Jen, did you take the condom off?”

“Of course I did.”

“Did you throw it  _ into  _ the trash can or did you choose to be gross about it?” 

“There’s nothing gross about it, but  _ yes _ , it’s in the trash can. Hey.” Jensen turns over and sits up, scrubbing his face. “I have a grant writing seminar that starts at one and goes until four.”

Removing mute from his phone, Jared answers Jeff. 

“I’ll go, Jeff. Jen’s got a work thing and I can leave the cafe early. What time--oh fuck, it’s eight thirty. Are we meeting there? Should I bring anything? Does she take insurance? Oh my god, are we all on the same page? I wasn’t expecting to do this so soon. I haven’t read half of the books Misha gave me.” 

“Calm down, tall man,” Jensen murmurs, poking Jared in the shoulder. 

“Yeah,” Jeff says. “Let’s be real--no one, Misha included, has had time to read through all that. Besides, we’re here to learn as we go, right? I’ll meet you at Matilda’s by twelve thirty, and I’ll drive us over. See you lovebirds later. Bye-bye, Jenny Flowers!” 

Jared stares at his phone for a second, then looks over to Jensen. He bites his bottom lip in worry. 

“Don’t,” Jensen instructs. “Don’t panic.” 

Throwing his arms up in the air, Jared exclaims, “How can I  _ not _ panic?! This is HUGE.”

“It’s an intake appointment.” 

“For our six year old!” 

“Our funny, bright, capable six year old.”

“Our shy, quiet, in-distress six year old.” 

“Shyness isn’t the worst thing in the world, Jared.” 

“That’s not…” Jared huffs. “That’s not what I’m saying. It’s just harder to know how to help.” 

Jensen stands up and tosses on a pair of black boxer briefs. The man could wear a paper bag and still be featured on the cover of GQ. Focus. 

“We’re all on the same page,” he says, in a quiet, yet firm tone. “We love our kid and want the best for them. All of them. Right?” 

Jared carefully swings his legs over his side of the bed. He hesitates to stand up, partly from soreness and partly because he’s not ready to face the world of making responsible decisions. 

He sighs, a weight on his chest.

**Jensen:**

“Sit still, Jensen.” 

“I just want to remind you that I have an incredibly important meeting in two hours.”

“Yeah, yeah, I got it the first three times you reminded me.”

“Did we have to do this now? Jeff. Are you… tweezing my eyebrows?” 

“Just a touch! Opening night for this play is tomorrow and I don’t have time today to try this new makeup on one of the actors. And seeing as you’re the only person home,  _ and _ you’re my very bestest friend--yes, we had to do this now.”

“Very bestest friend meaning you’re buying dinner tonight.”

“Sheesh--alright, alright. Tilt your chin. Bit more. There we go. You have the cheekbones of a Greek god.” 

“I’ve never had anyone compliment my… cheekbones.”

“Take it from this old queen--good cheekbones are  _ the _ social currency.”

“Jeff.”

“Hmm?”

“What happens if I need to go to the bathroom?”

“Why? Did you forget how to?”

“No! I mean… what happens if I need to go to the bathroom while you’re doing all of this?”

“Well, first, I advise you never to interrupt an artist’s work. It’s in poor taste. Second, you know, I  _ have  _ seen it done where men with a touch of makeup on successfully go to the bathroom without dying. With my own two eyes. And hands. And a pair of other things.”

“Extra, much?”

“Drag queens invented extra. And, as part of our culture, we enjoy going on tangents. Also finding any opportunity to gossip. This makeup is ten times better than what Lidell wanted to use--that cheap motherfucker. It’s going on perfect.”

“...I’ve never done this before.”

“Worn makeup?”

“Yeah. I just… never really thought of it before I met you.”

“It isn’t everyone’s calling. But the good Lord gave you these cheekbones and lips for a reason, goddamn.”

“Focus.”

“Huh, where do I start? I have been dressing in drag since the day I was born. The hospital was out of blue blankets and voila! My career as a queen took off. For me, this is second nature. First nature, if you ask Misha. Anywho, I think everyone should try drag at least once in their lives--under the supervision of a qualified professional, of course. The good lord knows that the world doesn’t need another Dusti Debris.” 

“Who? What?” 

“You can ask my parents and siblings about all this. My first word? Hair. You know how some kids write their names in crayons all over the walls? I wrote my name in lipstick. My poor mother. Looking back on it now, I probably got my grubby little hands on her good Dior.”

“...what?” 

“Are we going blond or brunette on you? Oh, I’m such an idiot--we’re going  _ strawberry _ blond. There we go.” 

“We’re doing a wig now? Wait. Let me guess. For the full effect.”

“You’re catching on.”

“How old were you when you… realized you were dressing up in drag?” 

“Hmm. Good question. Probably around Bailey’s age, I think. I wore one of my mom’s sequined dresses and pretended to be a disco princess.”

“It was that easy?”

“Easy isn’t the word for it. It’s more like--it clicked. All the pieces came together. It was magic. I was happy. I kept that happiness to myself for years, until my sisters figured out who was constantly taking their clothes and makeup. By fourteen, I snapped my way out of the closet and burst forth, a determined baby queen, ready to take on the world.”

“Just like that, huh?” 

“Hey, sometimes life’s candy and the sun’s a ball of butter. Who says it always has to be this incredibly complicated, convoluted, tragic, pit of despair and angst? Were my parents thrilled? Not exactly. Did they get over it? You bet. Do I feel more comfortable in pants or a dress? Follow up question--what kind of pants and who designed the dress?”

“This thing is heavy.”

“A wig is a heavy burden.”

“I think you mean heart.”

“Eh. Let’s sweep this to the side. Let a few tendrils loose here. Tuck this behind your ear. Good, good. Now, should we add earrings for the full effect?” 

“My ears aren’t pierced.”

“That has never stopped me.”

“You’re not piercing my ears, Jeff.”

“Spoilsport. I have the magnetic kind anyway. I think we’ll pop on some pearls. Let’s see. Too gaudy. Too small. Ugh, what was I thinking with these?”

“Have you ever… wanted to… not be a queen?”

“As in stop doing drag?”

“No, as in… transition.”

“I went through a period of time, which I think all queens do, where I questioned that. I must have been twenty. I shaved all the hair off my body, wore a wig and women’s clothes out in public for a week, and spent three hours in the bathtub with a bottle of champagne by Sunday.”

“So did you figure it out then?”

“Oh hell no. Another year went by with me flipping back and forth on all that shit. It wasn’t until Miss Charlemaine Opal, five time, drag pageant winner, sat my dumb ass down and told me I didn’t have to choose. So I didn’t. Remember--not everything has to be super complicated and convoluted?”

“Hmm.”

“Jensen.”

“Yeah?”

“You look beautiful.”

“I… um. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Should I try… wearing a dress?”

“You haven’t ever?” 

“Nope.”

“Well, if you ever feel like hopping into a dress, I’ve got a few options that are right up your alley.”

“I just never thought about this. I never thought twice about being a guy. I thought a lot about being  _ with _ another guy. But never questioned myself as one.”

“That’s okay. We all have different experiences.”

“I don’t feel trapped in the wrong body.”

“Not everyone does. And to those who do, maybe all we can do for them is thank them for sharing how they feel and support their informed decisions. Okay. Tilt your chin. Take a deep breath. Open your eyes.”

Jensen absorbs his reflection in the mirror. 

He swims in the earliest waters of understanding.

**Jared** : 

Matilda runs a tight ship. She oversees her cafe with a careful eye. 

In all her years of traveling the country in her motorcycle gang, she’s learned that the devil is in the details. She never misses inventory. All her books are in order. Expenses. Invoices. Payroll. Emails. Deadlines. It’s all under her capable control. 

She set out to run a local, queer-friendly, queer-owned cafe in Santa Monica after struggling to find such a place outside of Los Angeles city limits. With a pack of bull dykes, femmes, and queers supporting her every step of the way, she bought the space and brought her vision to life. 

What she hadn’t expected, however, was continued success. 

Most small businesses fail within their first year of operation. Things were a little slow last year, but then she agreed to the expansion of Matilda’s core service--adding in-house bakery items and catering.

Jared convinced her with a pitch and a cupcake. 

“I’ve got ten orders,” Matilda announces, walking into the back room. “All for two or three dozen cupcakes, plus two orders for cakes. Are you sure you’ll be able to get these all in?” 

Tapping a pencil to his temple, Jared nods. He makes a note next to an ingredients list. 

“Yup. I anticipated the busy season. That’s why I changed the catering options.” He stands up and leans against the counter. “Most of the cupcakes can be made from a single base, only the fillings or toppings change. The cakes don’t take as long. Are  _ you _ sure you’re okay with me leaving early today?”

Matilda cut her salt and pepper hair short last week. She runs her left hand through it while checking the staff and catering schedule. 

“Yes, that’s perfectly fine. You can stop asking.”

“I just get nervous.” 

“Jared, if I had a nickel for every time you got nervous…”

“I know, I know,” he sighs with a smile. “Worrying is my job. I don’t wanna leave y’all in a lurch, but I really need to make this appointment.” 

“We’re good. I told Sophie I’d call her if extra hours popped up and she was more than happy to fill in. Mrs. Olivares has ordered orange poppy seed cupcakes four times this year. What’s her deal?” 

Jared hands over his completed ingredients list. “She’s got a nephew with a lot of food allergies and some of the other places nearby fucked up bad. Every time they have a family function, she calls me first.” 

“Poor kid. What are they allergic to?”

“Pretty much everything.” Jared checks his watch. “I have ten minutes before Jeff gets here. Is there anything I can help you with before I’m leaving on a jet plane?”

Hand on her hip, Matilda reads through the list, then tucks it into her back pocket. She clears her throat and looks Jared square in the eye. 

“First, I wanna ask you if you’d be able to make sixty mint chocolate chip cupcakes for the 23rd. I’m sponsoring a holiday gala for the We-Ho Center.”

“Consider it done.” 

“Great. Second, I want to talk to you more about the financials of this.”

Jared forces himself to stay calm and keep his voice steady. “Is the food cost getting too high? I can make some swaps. But I think we’re getting a good deal from Costco, even if we have to drive out to Culver City.”

“No, that’s not an issue,” she replies, waving that off. “I mean, I want to talk to you about a raise.”

Eyes wide, Jared can’t help but smile. “What? Really?” 

“You’re bringing in money with this baking and catering stuff. If the case out there doesn’t sell out, which it usually does, then I’ve got you working your ass off filling catering orders.” She grabs a cupcake from a plate Jared sets out every day for staff. “I’d like to move you from front of house to back of house. You can help out with the line in a pinch, but I think this should be your primary focus. If you agree to that.”

His head spins. Before working at Matilda’s he had never been good enough at anything on a job to be praised for it, let alone promoted. She trusts him with the keys to the store, and he can knock out lines of customers without batting an eye--a far cry from when he first started. And he’s one class away from his Culinary Arts Certificate. 

Guilt takes a stab at his momentary giddiness. 

Has he been focusing too much on his career prospects instead of concentrating on his kids? If he didn’t work such odd hours, maybe Bailey wouldn’t be struggling? If he didn’t work at all, would all three kids benefit from more attention? 

Somehow, blame and guilt manage to weigh down on his shoulders. 

Before he can properly express his gratitude to Matilda and continue the conversation, his phone rings.

“Jeff’s here,” Jared blurts out, suddenly hit by a wave of fatigue. “Can we keep talking about this tomorrow?”

Finishing her cupcake, Matilda nods. “Certainly. And just so you don’t worry more than you have to, I want you to make your own schedule. If this is something you wanna transition to.” 

He nods and unties his apron. “Yes! I mean. I just need to think it over. Well, it’s more like I have a lot on my mind at this moment, and… yeah.” 

“You’re fine. I’m just being selfish. I know you’re almost done with your program and I wanna keep you on. You’ve got talent making this stuff. Even if you’re directly contributing to my dentist bill.”

Jared laughs and grabs his keys, phone, and notebook. “That I can’t help you with.” He offers up a smile. “Thank you for believing in me. And for the opportunities.” 

Matilda waves him off. “Don’t make me express natural human emotion. I have a reputation to keep. Go. I don’t need an impatient queen blaming me for making you late.” 

Said impatient queen looks positively radiant when Jared steps out onto the street. 

“You look like you’re the cat that ate the mouse,” Jared snickers after they hug. “What did you do now?”

Jeff looks up and away, struggling to maintain his most innocent expression. “Oh, nothing. I tested out the new makeup for this weekend’s show. C’mon.” He opens the SUV passenger side door for Jared. “Let’s get a move on. I’m excited for this.”

Jared removes his hair tie and shakes his hair free. He pops open the visor and checks for stray flour, frosting, or chocolate on his face. “I’m so nervous, I might throw up.”

“What’s there to be nervous about?” Jeff grins, driving down Santa Monica Boulevard with carefree abandon. “We’re all A+ parents. We’ve got great kids. We’re great people. Things are peachy.”

“If things are so peachy, why are we seeing a psychologist?” 

“Because even peachy people need help saying and doing what’s best outside our expertise.” 

“You sound like my therapist.”

“A compliment, thank you.”

Even with the slight chill in the air, Jared basks in California sunlight. He keeps the window slightly down and attempts a deep breathing exercise. Jensen and Misha will be busy tomorrow at the gardens helping Ken set up a holiday cloche display. They’ll be setting up a hundred glass vessels with plants inside and strings of lights around them. This is the second year for the cloche display. 

With a raise from Matilda, Jensen can quit UPS and focus on his work at the gardens. 

If Jared makes his own schedule, they might be able to swing more time together, and more time with the kids and the guys. 

Is life ever that easy though?

Jeff parks in front of a sleek medical office building. Together, they hunt for the proper suite, eventually finding it after a loop through the complex. They walk and talk, and Jeff provides a few more details along the way. Dr. Mitchell only accepts insurance after the consultation, said consultation costs three hundred and fifty dollars, but Misha and Jeff will cover the cost--resistance is futile. If this ends up being a good fit, they can use Jensen or Misha’s insurance going forward. 

The building as a whole looks like a few pages out of Architectural Digest. Jared spies a path leading down to a meticulously edged garden maze. 

Suite 101 displays a gold plated sign on its door:  _ Welcome. _

Jared follows Jeff. He pictures themselves as intrepid adventurers bound to meet their destinies. And ten minutes early to boot. 

Mx. Lewis, the receptionist, greets them warmly and sets them up with paperwork and a receipt for the visit. Jeff pays and cracks a joke about an extra five minutes if he leaves a tip. 

For the most part, the office suite is as tastefully decorated as the rest of the building, though with less emphasis on modern and sleek. This reminds Jared of a cottage garden he read about when helping Jensen edit a grant proposal last month. The coffee table seems to be a rustic, repurposed slab of wood, possibly from a barn door. Terracotta pots of violets and primroses line the table, along with a few parenting magazines. Watercolor landscape paintings grace the pastel green walls. 

In the corner sits a play area for children, complete with a small bin filled with play clothes.

This should be a relaxing space. Spotless white blankets draped over the comfortable couches almost beg Jared to settle in and quit worrying. 

He tries his best to fill out the paperwork given to him. Jeff keeps a supportive hand on Jared’s shoulder.

At exactly one, Dr. Mitchell walks into the waiting area. Tall, with her auburn hair pulled into a French braid, she looks like a double for Taraji P. Henson. She wears a lavender blouse, beige skirt, black leggings, and heels with a regal air.

“Mr. Morgan and Mr. Padalecki,” she says, extending her hand. “So nice to meet you both. Shall we?”

“The pleasure is all ours,” Jeff chimes in. “Thank you for meeting us today on such short notice.”

“Oh, no trouble. I’m glad we could make it work.” She gestures to a pair of ergonomic seats. “Please, sit down. Let’s dive right in.” 

Diving right in is exactly what Jared doesn’t want to do. He would much rather prefer to dive right out and flop back to the parking lot. This is the Great Unknown. What if she deems him an unfit parent? What if she discovers his complete and total ignorance to matters like these? Maybe Jeff can talk enough for the both of them.

Dr. Mitchell quickly reads through the forms Jared filled out. “So, from my understanding, and please, correct me if I get any of this wrong or something sounds inaccurate--there are four parents total for triplets Bailey, Hailey, and Kaylee. The triplets are six, turning seven this coming April, and they’re currently enrolled in the first grade. How am I doing so far?”

Jeff pats Jared’s knee. “Great. Anything you wanna add?” 

“No, that sounds right,” Jared answers. Does his voice sound as shaky as he thinks it sounds? Is he sweating? Is it hot in Dr. Mitchell’s office or is it a product of his imagination? 

“Good. And looks like Bailey was assigned male at birth.” 

“Yes,” Jared confirms. “He’s the oldest by a few minutes.”

“Wonderful. I like having discussions between parents and myself first, I find it easier for everyone starting off this way. Has Bailey ever seen a psychologist or mental health professional?” 

Fielding this one, Jeff replies. “No, just the social worker at school, and they encouraged us to go with private practice for more one-on-one time with him and the family--which we’re happy to do.” 

With a nod, Dr. Mitchell makes a note on her ivory writing pad. “Excellent. I may ask you to sign some forms so I can speak to the school’s social worker. We can check-in with each other as time goes on for continuity of care in and outside of school. If we all decided to proceed.” 

“That’s a good idea.” Jeff lightly squeezes Jared’s shoulder. “Sure that won’t be an issue.”

“No,” Jared murmurs. “Not a problem.” 

Dr. Mitchell nods again and continues writing. “Great. Here’s a tougher question: in your own words, what brings you here today? Let’s start with Jared.” 

Oh no.

Called out. 

There might as well be a hundred spotlights on his face. What happened to his morning filled with sex and wild abandon? Oh my god. Everyone’s looking at him. And by everyone, that’s Jeff and Dr. Mitchell.

Words tumble around in his mind and mouth like Oreos being crushed for cupcakes. 

“Bailey’s confused,” Jared starts, immediately regretting his word choice. “I mean. He’s struggling. He’s always been the quiet one, and we’ve never had a behavioral issue from him like we’ve had with his sisters. Kaylee has a temper and Hailey loves pushing boundaries in the name of science. Bay’s always been my sweet little guy.” 

Jared fidgets in his seat, but presses on. “But we’ve noticed a bunch of issues--acting out, mood swings, crying--and he recently said he wants to be a princess. I don’t… I guess we don’t… necessarily know what to do with all of that.” 

Instead of yelling at him for his inept parenting or completely clueless grasp on life, Dr. Mitchell offers him a warm, understanding smile. 

How do therapists do that? 

“Thank you,” she says, softly. “That’s a good summary. Jeff?” 

“I think Jared put it perfectly. The four of us are on the same page, just on different lines. We all want what’s best for Bailey, we’re just not sure what that looks like.” 

“Thank you. As I’m sure you both know, discussing gender with children can be difficult to navigate--at first.” She leans back in her chair, hands clasped in front of her. “But it can also be a joy. It’s my job to help families find their own, individual joy. Everyone’s journey is different. Jared, you mentioned some struggles with acting out. Can you give me an example?” 

In less time he thought it would take to formulate an answer, he says, “Bay was so upset at dinner one night. He couldn’t really express what upset him at first, until we figured out he wanted a pink plate like his sisters. I think that set things off. It’s not like him to throw a tantrum over something his sisters have--they’re all pretty good with sharing.”

“How have you since resolved the plate issue?” 

Jeff helps out with this one. “We switched to green plates for each kid. We were dividing things by color for each individual kid, then by pink and blue, and now everyone gets green.”

“How did that go with all three siblings?”

“Mixed results,” Jeff laughs. “And I may have bribed Kaylee with some nail stickers. But I think the girls are pretty aware that Bailey’s going through something, even if they themselves can’t express it.”

Jared jumps in. “They’re very protective of each other, especially the girls over Bailey.”

“They sound like happy, healthy children for their age.” Dr. Mitchell continues writing notes, glancing up when needed. “Jeff, I know you have experience with drag and gender fluidity. What would you like to see for Bailey?” 

Grateful for the reprieve from the spotlight, Jared listens intently to Jeff’s response. 

“Y’know, I don’t really see this as a smoking gun or a critical issue. But that’s me. I regularly act like a princess, dress like a princess, and command other people to treat me like a princess.” He pats Jared’s knee. “I think any of the adults in our household would agree to that.”

“Yes,” Jared says with a dramatic sigh. “Yes, we would.” 

Jeff counters with a wide grin. “See? So personally, I just wanna give the kid a little room to explore. He’s six. There doesn’t need to be this great big epiphany from anyone, least of all him. But that’s just me.” 

Writing still, she asks, “And your partner, Jeff? What do you think he would like to see?” 

“Oof. That’s a tough question. I think Mish-Mash is torn. Mimi likes researching everything to death. Always has. He’s the type of parent that goes for a book the second something comes up, even if it’s a scrape on the knee.” Jeff taps his chin. “I love that about him. But it can feel a little constricting sometimes.”

“He gave us this pile of books about transgender children,” Jared adds. “I got through half of one, but I feel more lost than ever.” He looks down at his shoes. “I think Misha and I both worry that we might not give Bay enough direction. Or too much.” 

Nodding, Jeff sighs. “I think we all worry--myself included--that we’re gonna fuck this up and Bay’s gonna go to college hating all of us.” 

Dr. Mitchell looks up from her notes and places her pen to the side. She speaks in a tone that feels like the world’s coziest blanket. 

“Many children at this age explore their gender. Not every little boy who likes to wear dresses ends up identifying as female, and vice versa. Exploration and questioning are part of being six years old. However, on the chance that Bailey does, later on, choose to identify differently, we want to teach him about authenticity along the way.” 

Jeff and Jared look at each other, then at Dr. Mitchell, and nod. 

She continues. 

“Many of us lose out on lessons about authenticity, whether it’s from turbulent relationships with our parents or partners, or what society dictates we  _ should _ feel or do. At the core of all of this, removing shame and bolstering authenticity are key. I’m going to write down a few things for you to take back and share with your partners.” 

In script as neat as her manicured nails, she hands over two pieces of paper, then asks Jared to read the first section out loud. 

Jared clears his throat. 

“Uhm. Okay. ‘Authenticity is the daily practice of letting go of who we think we are supposed to be and embracing who we are.’” 

“Excellent. Jeff?”

Speaking softly, Jeff reads out the second quote. “‘Shame is the dream killer. Shame (or the possibility of shame) amplifies our fear of fear, keeps us from contributing, and short circuits our willingness to explore.’ Well, damn.” 

Dr. Mitchell smiles. “I’ll read the last quote. ‘One of the most beautiful gifts in the world is the gift of encouragement. When someone encourages you, that person helps you over a threshold you might otherwise never have crossed on your own.’ Do these make sense?”

Both Jared and Jeff nod. 

“I have a few more, but we’ll save them for next time.” Dr. Mitchell opens up a silver calendar book and picks up a violet pen. “I would love to continue working with your family. There is no magic wand, which I’m sure you’re well aware, but I think we can come together and figure this out one step at a time.”

Jeff looks to Jared for confirmation. 

In a split second, Jared feels like he’s standing in front of the Storybook Land Canal, watching Jensen pull out a handkerchief to wipe the tears away for a lost little girl. 

Then his mind changes the scene without his permission. 

He stands in his mother’s kitchen, thirteen years old, his back rigid, trying to hold back tears. 

His mother exasperatedly shouts to his father that they’ve got to watch out for  _ this one _ . His parents talk about him and complain about the extra effort it will be to make sure he doesn’t come home from school knocked up. If he lets anyone knock him up, he’s a failure. He’ll throw his life away and he’s a special kind of stupid if he thinks he’ll get a lick of support from them. 

They forbade him from knowing himself. 

They refused to provide him with books about what his body could do. 

Why couldn’t he be like Tristan? Why did he have to be  _ weird _ ? None of their male relatives had been born with the ability to carry life. He must have gotten it from some other way. 

He would spend the next five years stifling his body, his identity, and his abilities. 

He couldn’t know and love himself until he escaped from Texas, and found someone who took the time to show him how.

Even still, with every kiss, every morning, and every sacrifice--that someone continues to show him storms makes trees grow deeper roots. 

Jared speaks with confidence and relief. He treads the waters of understanding. 

He dives right in.

“Yes, we’d love to come back.” 

**Author's Note:**

> Happy (very very belated) Birthday to My Beta Deb! <3 For her birthday, she requested Punzel Verse. It was awesome to get back to this little family in Santa Monica. :D 
> 
> Quotes are from Brene Brown, Seth Godin, and John O'Donohue respectively. The "roots" line is a Dolly Parton quote too. I found these quotes from "The Illustrated Herbiary" which is super fascinating. 
> 
> If you'd like to support me outside of AO3, check out my tumblr at compo67.tumblr.com. Thank you! Comments are love! <3


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